


quit this day and age

by livtontea



Series: might you live to see the sunrise [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Lowercase, No Incest, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, Rumors, Short, Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 17:07:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea
Summary: when you’re young, still a child with round cheeks and a smile on your face, laughing with your siblings any chance you get—you don’t know what you’re capable of.
Series: might you live to see the sunrise [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544566
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	quit this day and age

**Author's Note:**

> allison... i love you...
> 
> title from [the world we live in](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8EqBVO0eYOI)

when you’re young, still a child with round cheeks and a smile on your face, laughing with your siblings any chance you get—you don’t know what you’re capable of. and how would you? you can barely speak; much less form the words you need to warp the fabric of the world around you. your brother is already ahead—he sweeps through the world like plumes of fire sweep through the air; bright, bold, wild, and uncontrolled. his would-be flames are blue.

when you’re young—number three—you’re playing with words. you have an assignment, your father ordering you to read through pages of text that your little mind can barely comprehend. and so you do, because you have no choice, and really—you don’t mind all that much. you’ve always had a fondness for words. they roll around on your tongue, blending into a streaming sentence, and then a phrase, a paragraph, a song. four words:  _ i heard a rumor. _ so very simple; so compelling. your nanny’s eyes glaze over.

you have to work for praise and recognition, you and your array of syllables. your father asks you into the basement,  _ to prove yourself _ , he says, and this is your chance. you follow him, walking twice as fast as you normally do, trying to keep up. he leads you to a room empty except for you sister—and you look her in the eyes, not really knowing what exactly it is you’re doing.  _ i heard a rumor you think you’re just ordinary _ , you say, and for a moment you can feel your sister’s power swarm in the air around you—and then they fade. you are lead out, and you look up at your father, eyes filled with hope for something—anything. your father is stony faced as he walks you to your other siblings.  _ again. _ the words fly from your mouth and wiggle into their ears, erasing and clipping and twisting their thoughts to your (your father’s) will. their eyes glaze, and you don’t look. 

you’re in a room with a mirror in front of you and your lips are moving, and you stare into your own eyes, and watch them go blank. it kind of feeling like having a memory scratched out—like scribbling over previous words with a pencil until you can’t make out what was written before; until the paper rips. but you don’t remember that feeling; you don’t remember that day at all. in fact, you look at your ordinary, plain sister and don’t even notice anything about her is different.

you grow, like children tend to do, and so does your power. it flourishes under the light of your father’s surveillance, growing brighter and more complicated like flowers popping up from the snow. more and more people blink open their eyes to realize they don’t know what they were doing. you speak more and more. some days, you can’t speak at all; your throat gets hoarse from spitting out vowels and consonants.

your mother names you allison; the word is placed under your tongue, for safekeeping. it feels important in your mouth. she grins, and smooths your hair away from your face.  _ allison. _ you feel important. it’s a nice feeling.

as you train, you realize things. things like:   
  
connotation is important. you remember that—have it etched into your mind. connotation is important. pronunciation, too, and diction. don’t slur. project. enunciate. it’s all permanent in your memory, cutting deeper and deeper until you use your power reflexively; your brother can’t talk for a week after you yell at him to shut up. you feel horrible. not at first, never at first—the guilt hits you like a freight train later; sometimes months later. sometimes years. lustrums, decades. it eats at you from the inside out, aiming to consume. and sometimes, you let it.

you’re not a little kid anymore. you never were, not really. you weren’t allowed to be. but now you’re not a girl; you’re a woman who has made mistakes, and who has screwed up everything; you’re a woman who keeps screwing herself over, with things as simple as a smile and an assurance that you’re perfect for the role. he loves you—you know that, because you’ve said he does. your daughter is bright eyed and gap-toothed, and you would do anything at all to keep her that way. but nobody taught you how to be weak. her eyes flash blue.

you haven’t spoken to your family in years. not even luther, who you were closest with; not even vanya, with whom you had a bond only sisters could share. not diego, not klaus, and definitely not five and ben. you feel alone, as you sign off on the divorce papers, right under your ex-husband’s signature. ex. what a funny little word. you don’t think you’ve ever really had an ex before. you should have, shouldn’t you? you should have had a life outside of the academy. a life that wasn’t built on lies. you don’t cry as you say goodbye to your daughter and promise yourself to be better.

you  _ do _ cry when your throat is slashed and bleeds red all over. you don’t cry for yourself—you cry for your sister, who needed your help. you failed her. you cry for your daughter, who needed you. you failed her. you cry for your family, who you abandoned when you left; and who you didn’t regret leaving. you do, now. but it’s not like you can go back and change things, can you?

funnily enough, you wake up. for the first time in your life, your words—words that you have (or used to have, at one point) so much control over—are gone. you have a bandage on your throat, and a pad of paper as a replacement for something that can’t be replaced. but…

well.

maybe it’s better this way.

your sister ends the world, and even though you have a second chance—the sort of second chance that nobody should have; the sort that shouldn’t even be possible to take—you can’t help but think that you failed her. you failed them all. (and even though it’s a selfish thought—a selfish thought of a selfish person, because that’s what you are, skilled at twisting words and so, so selfish—you can’t help but think: you failed yourself, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! you can find me on tumblr [@seven-misfits](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/)
> 
> drop a line! tell me what you think :)


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